Fire and Ice
by asnowcappedromance
Summary: Stiles life is back on track, the pack is happy, his life is happy, everything is good for once. Until it isn't again. Stile's life comes tumbling down when a fire destroys his home and the last of his family. Can the pack pull Stiles back from the edge, or will he plunge into something even they can't save him from? (Slow-burn Sterek/Character death/Dark themes/other warnings -)
1. Propane Explosions

**I'm new to FF and this plot has been running around in my head for days! I hope you enjoy it.**

**_Summary_: Stiles life is back on track, the pack is happy, his life is happy, everything is good for once. Until it isn't again. Stile's life comes tumbling down when a fire destroys his home and the last of his family. Can the pack pull Stiles back from the edge, or will he plunge into something even they can't save him from?**

**_Warnings_: Slow-burn Sterek. Character death. Possible M/M smut later. Some dark themes. More detailed warnings will be given in AN's if they're going to appear in a specific chapter.  
**

* * *

'Best birthday ever!' Erica practically squeals from the back of Derek's camaro, cuddling into Boyd's side while Stiles grins at them from the passenger seat. They'd been at the Hale house celebrating Erica's 18th birthday all day, they'd watched so many movies and eaten too much junk food and there was even beer in the 'fridge when they finally ran out of take-out and started raiding the kitchen. Erica had been ecstatic that people had remembered, that it was an important occasion for once, and therefore rode around with Derek while he dropped the others off at home in order to continuously thank them for being there.

The others now just consisted of Stiles, who was singing along to some silly pop song on the radio and grinning at Erica in the backseat. He's distracted and happy and finally feels like some kind of normality and safety is descending on them at last. It's been a year of monsters, of pain and heartbreak and loss. That was over now though, they could celebrate birthdays and throw parties and let training go just a little bit, because everything was better now.

'Hey, Stiles?' Erica sings, pulling him from his thoughts.

'Yep?' He turns back to face her, happy that she's still happy.

'Thanks for getting everyone together today. It was good.' Stiles blushes, Derek must have told her sometime during the day that it had been Stile's idea to finally just let go and have fun for once.

'It's nothing, I'm glad you had fun.' Stiles replies, watching her as she snuggled further into Boyd's warmth.

'It wasn't nothing, I've never celebrated my birthday before. So just be quiet and accept the thanks. Okay?' Stiles just laughs and nods. It's been such a normal day, if you could count trying to beat werewolves at twister and laughing at the inconsistencies about wolves in as many werewolf movies Stiles could find with actual werewolves in the vicinity, normal. So normal, in fact, that they've let their guard down. They're not watching as closely as they should be, their senses aren't as heightened as they have been over the past year. It's Stiles only excuse really, that he brought it on himself with all of his normality and happiness, because of course, something has to go wrong.

He doesn't realise at first, none of them do. They're parked outside of his house, laughing and saying goodbye. Erica has leaned over to kiss Stile's cheek before he gets out of the car, and he opens the door slowly because she has a grip on his wrist and is telling him they have to party again some time soon. It's not until he's finally been released and is halfway out of the car when someone finally grasps something is wrong.

It's Boyd, his nose twitches, and then he pulls away from Erica and leans towards the open door, a hand reaching out to grab Stiles' forearm.

'Can anyone else smell that?' He asks quietly, scenting the air. Stiles just watches as the other two wolves sniff the air gently, doesn't realise that he's taking in deeper sniffs too, trying to find what they'd found.

'Is that.. Is something burning?' Stiles wrinkles his nose and turns towards the three wolves in the car. They're all flickering between the house they're parked in front of and Stiles, horrified expressions on their face. Stiles turns slowly, not quite sure what to expect when he finally found what they were staring at.

There's smoke coming from the back of the house, plumes and plumes of black smoke that makes it impossible to see the tree's lining the back of the Stilinski property. It's bad enough that he can see that, but he can also see the yellow-orange-red of flames flickering in the kitchen, in his bedroom, and then there's a darker flash of something running past the window of the landing.

'Dad.' Stiles gasps, shaking off Boyd's hand and throwing himself out of the car. He stumbles, slips to his knee's, but then he's up again and running towards his house, screaming for his father.

'Stiles, stop!' Erica screeches from behind him, but he doesn't care. His dad is in the house and it's burning. God, his house is burning! This can not be happening, he has to get in there, get his dad, get the memories of his mother before they're eaten away by heat and flame.

But he's not quick enough, because there are suddenly arms around him, one around his waist, one over his chest, others running over his arms and wrists and torso.

'Stiles, you can't go in there! Damn it Stiles stop fighting, stop fighting, you'll die if you go in there!' It's Erica again, and she has her hands on either side of his face, trying to make her concentrate on her, but he can't. His freaking dad is inside that house, he's going to die if Stiles doesn't even try. So he keeps kicking and screaming and fighting. Time is slowing down, he's watching as his entire house begins to creak and shake and fall apart and his father is still in there! The house is collapsing and burning around him and these stupid goddamn wolves won't let him go.

'Stop it! Let me go, let me go! My dad is in there. Dad!' Stiles screams desperately. 'Dad please! Dad!' He's hardly focusing on anything else around him until he heard Boyd whispering hurriedly to Derek.

'Derek, we have to move. They have a propane generator at the back of the house and if the fire..' Stiles tunes out at that, because as much as he's pretty sure his dad wouldn't survive burning hot fires, he sure as hell wasn't going to survive a propane explosion. The others are suddenly pushing and pulling and restricting his movements a hell of a lot more than they already were, they're babbling nonsense about having to move and it being too late.

'We have to try!' Stiles screams. 'That's my dad, my house! We have to try!' He knows he sounds hysterical, and he's screaming for his father. He's sure he must be close to the door now, close to getting out, close to being safe and free. Stile's is sure he see's the door handle turn and his dad start to step out but then everything is orange and bright and hot.

'Derek the tank!' Boyd shouts over the sound of the explosion, and Stiles just stops fighting.

Stiles stops moving, stops screaming, stops everything. His dad was in the doorway, so close. So close, but not enough. Now he was gone, he was gone in a ball of fire and heat and pain and there wasn't a single thing he could do other than go limp in Derek's arms and let the others move him away.

* * *

Stiles has been sat still a very long time. Or at least, it feels like a very long time. He's on his knee's by the curb, a little away from Derek's car, close enough still to his house that he can still feel the heat. Someone still has their arms around him, rocking him gently.

'-iles.. Hey, Stiles? Come on, sweetie, focus. Stiles!' Erica is suddenly in his face, worry and anguish painted over her usually happy or sarcastic expression. Stiles shakes his head lightly, tries to pulls air into his lungs but he can't. He can't breath. He can hear himself wheezing and there's a high pitched keening sound coming from somewhere deep inside him, and then suddenly the arms around him move and he's being turned, being cradled into someone's hard body.

'Shh, Stiles. Come one, breath with me. In..' The chest he's against expands, Stile's own chest finally fills with air. 'Exhale.' Stiles keeps following the instructions of Mr. Cuddly until he's breathing again.

Then he starts to laugh, because Mr. Cuddly is Derek. Derek is cuddling him and breathing with him and he's just called him Mr. Cuddly in his head and for some reason that's freaking hilarious. It's hilarious as he looks up to see Derek's pained, concerned face, when he looks around at Boyd and Erica and the people that are now swarming the street. It's hilarious, until he looks back at the house.

Then, it's not so hilarious. Nothing is, and there are tears suddenly falling down his face, his body is shaking and twitching and he's grasping at Derek's shirt desperately.

'He's dead.' Stile's wheezes out. 'He's dead, my dad's dead. He's dead.' He keeps repeating it over and over until instead he's just gone back to screaming, and Derek is rocking him and Erica is petting his hair and whispering things he doesn't understand, things that don't matter. Because Stiles has just lost the last bit of family he had left.

What else could possibly matter right now.

* * *

At some point, there must have been a fire engine, and ambulance, a trip to the hospital, doctors and nurses and sedatives. Stiles doesn't remember though, he doesn't remember how he got here or why he's lying on this hospital bed, or why a very tired and worried looking Derek Hale is slouched in the recliner beside him.

All he knows is that his dad is dead, his house is gone, and Stiles is completely alone.

Sometimes during the screaming and the crying and the clinging to Derek, someone had slipped him something to help him sleep, and he'd woken up here. There's an IV dripping clear fluids into his arm, and Derek is watching him intently as Stile's eyes float aimlessly around the room until they land on it.

'You were going into shock, you needed the fluids to help you not get worse.' Derek whispers to him, but Stiles doesn't react, just pulls his eyes away and stares up at the ceiling.

'My dad's dead.' Stiles says quietly, and his voice is void of any emotion, any pain or sorrow or anger. It's empty and cold. It's not a question, it's a statement.

'I know.' Derek whispers in reply. 'I know, and I'm so sorry Stiles.' Derek reaches out to put a hand on Stiles arm but he flinches away.

'If you'd let me go, I could have saved him.' Stile's voice is still cold, still empty.

'You would have died, Stiles.' Derek replies gently, watching Stiles intently for any imminent breakdown. Stiles is pretty sure that Derek would take that over this nothingness, but he's not going to get that. Stiles it too empty, too numb, too tired to freak out anymore.

'I don't care.' Is all Stiles says, and with a sigh he turns away from Derek and scrunches his eyes shut tightly, hoping maybe that will help keep the images of his house exploding away for a little while.

Derek doesn't say anything else, just sits there quietly until someone else comes into the room and they swap places. Like they're sentry watching him. This person smells like cookies and sunshine, good things, things that don't belong in this room with him. It's Lydia, Lydia is sitting watching over him and he should care about that, but he doesn't. The same way he doesn't care when the watch changes again a few hours later and it's Allison..

Boyd.

Isaac.

Scott.

Erica.

Jackson.

Danny.

Derek.

By the time Derek comes back for his watch, he's being released into Melissa McCall's care. She's given him some of Scott's clothes to change into, given that all of his were lost when his house burn to nothing. Derek comes in looking slightly less haggard, but Stiles doesn't even acknowledge him, same as he hasn't for any of the others. He hasn't said a single word since he spoke to Derek this morning. He didn't feel the need to. There were no words for this, so he wouldn't try. What was the point in trying if it would yield nothing anyway? He'd tried to fight against the wolves, his dad had still died. He'd screamed a cried and been held, he still hurt.

Stiles knows people are worried about him. He knows they want him to talk, say anything, fill the silence like he usually does. They want him to twitch because he hasn't taken his Adderall, they want him to cry and scream and become hysterical again. But he can't. He's tired.

His dad is dead.

His house is gone.

He's alone.

So Stiles says nothing, not to Scott or Ms. McCall, not to Derek. Not to the offer of food, a shower, a bed. He just takes what's offered, nods his head noncommittally and then leaves to do whatever they suggest.

It's the best he can do right now, so they're going to have to deal with it. It's their fault his dad is dead and Stiles is still alive right now, so they can suffer like he is.

He doesn't care anymore.


	2. Sane Numbers

**I am so glad people responded to this story because i'm really enjoying writing it. This chapter is mostly Stiles/Derek things but not Sterek.. yet. I should probably add here that there is every possibility that this could go there and i'm not apposed to writing M/M smut if it comes to it, so be warned.**

**I got some help from a lovely writer named Rayrawl with this chapter, and she'll probably be helping out some for the foreseeable future, and although she hasn't ventured into TW yet, you guys should go check out her stories!**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

86,400.

That's how many seconds there are in a day.

Therefore, it has now been exactly 288,000 seconds since Stiles' life came crashing down around him. 3 days, 8 hours since half past 11, PM, on Thursday the 1st of September when Stiles watched, while a pack of supernatural creatures held him back, as his house burnt and his dad burnt with it. Taking the last of his family down in an explosion hot enough and big enough to reach out to Stiles' jeep that had been exactly 36.5 yards from the houses front door and burn that into an unusable lump of scrap metal, as well.

It was now half past 6, Monday 5th of September. First day back at school after the summer, and Stiles still hadn't said a word to anybody since he'd spoken to Derek in the hospital. He's also not slept in exactly 46 hours, hasn't eaten in 38 hours and all of these numbers are the only thing keeping Stiles somewhere near sane.

Derek is on Stiles duty right now, has been since he'd heard Stiles finally give up on just lying in bed and instead get up to shower. That had been an hour ago. Now, Stiles was dressed, in the kitchen, and had made a coffee that he'd left on the side of the kitchen counter and wasn't planning on drinking at all. It had just been a motion, an old everyday thing that he'd done for his dad before all of this happened, because Sherriff Stilinski was the only one in their house who'd ever drank coffee. It had messed with Stiles' ADD and his mother drank only water, from what Stiles can remember.

Stiles had decided he was going to school whether anyone liked it or not. Of course, he hadn't given them the option of voicing their opinion on the matter, having not said a single word, but Derek is giving him looks from the corner of his eyes that say he knows he's about to do something that's probably stupid. Stiles ignores him, cleans out the coffee cup, and the goes to leave the house. He has to walk, no car now, and he has no backpack full of books and pencils that are snapped in half. Just himself and his legs to take the mile long journey to Beacon Hills High.

'Where are you going?' Derek is stood against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look expressionless and instead managing mildly concerned and mildly constipated. Stiles just turns, hand on the door knob and gives him a blank look for half a minute before turning around and leaving. Derek can go fuck himself, Stiles doesn't have to explain shit to him. He's halfway down the McCall house driveway when he hears Derek sigh and call after him.

'Fine. Scott will meet you there in an hour.' Stiles doesn't reply, doesn't even acknowledge that anything has been said, and just continues walking with his head down and his hands stuffed into the pockets of one of Scott's old hoodies.

* * *

After half a day of people giving him pity stares, pity apologies, pity hugs and his teachers treating him like he was made of glass, even Stiles was on the verge of admitting that this might have been a bad idea. He'd wanted to come back to school and gain back some normality. Get detention from Harris, have Coach call him Bilinski, be ignored by the general population of the school until it was time to walk back to the McCall house and pretend no one else existed.

Fair enough, up until now he hadn't had Harris so the detention might still happen, but all the others things hadn't happened like he'd wanted them too and it's frustrating. He's on the precipice of walking out when he decides that leaving now would not, in fact, be the norm and he has to stick this day out as much as he can without anything else messing with his schedule.

Which is how he found himself finally in Harris' lesson, still detention-less, staring at the Bunsen burners flame in front of him like it holds the answers to the entire world. Everything else around him has vanished, there's just him and the tiny orange-blue safety flame flickering that's all of a sudden a lot bigger, and bigger, and hotter, until Stiles is right back where he was 3 days and 16 hours ago, watching his father burn to death.

Stiles can feel the panic rising, the heat on his face, can remember the constriction of Derek's arms around him, holding him back. He can remember the hysteria and the tears in Erica's eyes and the way Boyd's voice sounded so fucking panicked as he reminded Derek that the Stilinski house has a propane fuelled generator at the back of their property and they're too close right now if that blows. Stiles is right there, like it's the same day and he's just reliving it over and over as he watches as his house is no longer just on fire but an entire ball of orange/blue/black that's so hot he thinks he can feel his face burning and the hairs on his arms frying and he's screaming. His dad can't survive this, his dad is dying, dead, gone.

Derek, save him. Fucking save him. Let me save him. Do SOMETHING.

'-iles! Stiles! Come on man, come on you're okay. Stile's please, listen to me, you're okay. You're at school, in chemistry. Stiles, snap out of it!'

'Scott, stop shouting at him!'

'I don't know what else to do, Lydia!'

Warm arms wrap around Stiles and pull him sideways into an awkward embrace with someone who smells familiar. His eyes are flickering open and shut widely, he can't breathe, and his heart is pounding. But Stiles is just glad he can't smell the burning anymore, or see the flames. The feelings are still there, the hysteria, but it's easier to control when it's not all replaying in his head like groundhog day.

It's what feels like a lifetime before Stiles can breath again, even longer until his heart rate drops to something that doesn't seem life threatening and then he realises he's encased by what appears to be the entire pack of werewolves and there isn't a single other person iN what was a full classroom before Stiles had his PTSD moment.

'Hey Stiles.' Someone croons softly beside him, hand stroking gently over his scalp. It's Lydia, the familiar smell, the comforting body, it had been her. 'Hey, you doing okay?' Stiles can feel at least Erica, Scott and Isaac along with Lydia curled around him, and somehow he's curled into himself in the corner behind the work bench he had been sat at. A glance up shows him Allison, Jackson, Boyd and a very uncomfortable looking Mr Harris watching him intently.

Stiles doesn't say anything to Lydia's question, just nods jerkily and begins to worm his way out of all the encasing bodies. Mr Harris is now talking to Scott and Jackson, he can hear snippets about him going home and them ringing Scott's mother because Stiles might be going into shock or something but he doesn't stick around to listen. Just dusts himself off, wipes at the tears still burning his face, and walks out of the classroom. For some reason, it's Isaac that holds them back from following him, and he's glad. Stiles can not deal with people right now.

* * *

It's Derek that finds him. Of course it is. Stile's didn't really expect it to be anyone else. He just is suddenly there beside Stiles, legs stretched out whereas Stiles has pretty much rolled himself into a ball.

'The pack is worried about you.' Stiles doesn't respond, just stares at the same thing he's been staring at for the past hour and 23 minutes.

'How long have you been here?' No answer again, Derek sighs.

'We need to get you back to Scott's, Melissa is worried.' Stiles still doesn't reply, just continues staring. He's been sat watching the wreck that is the Hale house for so long that he doesn't think he can pull his attention away from it now. The longer he remains silent, the more he can feel Derek getting agitated beside him which is strange because not long ago, Derek was the silent broody type and Stiles was the ADD riddled chatterbox with endless energy.

'Dammit, Stiles. Why won't you talk to me?!' Okay, that gets Stiles' attention. It's the first time someone's snapped at him, gotten openly frustrated with him, since the fire. His head snaps round to stare at Derek, who is now looking decidedly mortified at the tone of his voice, and Stiles laughs. It's a cold, empty sound, but it's a sound none the less. More acknowledgement than he's given anyone in days.

'Stiles, I'm.. I didn't mean to say it like that..'

'Yes you did.' They're the first words out of his mouth in days and his voice is dry, croaky, cold. Foreign. He can see the shock on Derek's face and he lets that awful laugh out again. Stiles stares at Derek for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the burnt out old house.

'Stiles..' Derek begins, but Stiles cuts him off.

'I want to blame you.' Stiles whispers. 'I want you to be to blame for this all, for having the first fire, for being a werewolf, for dragging me into it. I want to blame you for it.'

'Stiles…' He tries again, but Stile's has opened his mouth now, it's not going to stop again until he gets this out.

'I really, really want to blame you because it would be easier. I could blame you for not letting me go and try to save my dad, or going to try yourself. I want to blame you for his death, or for me still being alive. But I can't, because it's my fault.' Stiles leaps to his feet, pacing now. He's kept his twitchy restlessness underneath a cold layer of avoidance for almost 4 days now, he's going to pay now that he's released it.

'It's my fault Scott was out here to get bitten in the first place and it's my fault that I had to be so loyal and stick with him through this and get us involved in your issues. It's my fault my dad and my friends and my entire town was in danger because I started this. My dad is dead because I'm an idiot. Because I can't keep my mouth shut and my interest quenched and I had to fuck It up and now my father. My father, Derek! The last remaining bit of family I had, my father paid for that! Someone or something set that fire, he's gone and dead and I'm a month away from being 18 with absolutely nothing left. So don't. Don't try and make this fucking better because you can't. You can't. It's my fault and my guilt and you. Can't. Take. It. From me.'

Derek just lets him rant, watches as Stiles slowly, slowly runs out of steam and begins to droop in exhaustion and then motions Stiles to follow him, which he does in silence. The Camero is parked not far from the Hale property clearing and Derek opens to door for Stiles, closing it after him once he tumbles into his seat and reaches for the belt. Derek still hasn't said anything, but he looks like he's contemplating something. Probably putting Stiles on a suicide watch or into hospital for shock or making him see a therapist and that thought makes his chuckle because if anyone should be sending anyone to therapy, it should be Stiles sending Derek because really, even with everything Stile's has been through, no one has issues like Derek Hale. Derek just stares at him in confusion for a second before starting up the car and pulling away.

It's a 46 minute drive from the Hale property to Scott's house. Stiles calculates that as 2760 seconds until he has to face the pack again.

Stiles only manages to count to 321 before he falls asleep.

5.35 minutes.

Numbers keep him sane.


	3. Arson Investigations

**This is a repost, i'm so sorry. I realised that for some reason FF removed the first part of this chapter and therefore some of the other parts of the chapter wouldn't make sense. Switching up POV between Stiles and Derek again in this chapter! Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

Derek sighed as he listened to Stiles' heartbeat begin to even out and his breathing become a little deeper. The boy hadn't slept in days, his entire body reeked of fatigue and suppressed hunger. He took a quick glance over to the sleeping teen beside him and his heart ached unexpectedly at the way Stiles was curled up on himself; shoulders hunched, chin resting on his chest, arms wrapped around himself. Stiles looked older, resigned, defeated even in his sleep. The tiny twitches under his eyelids and the tremors running through his entire body told Derek that he wasn't going to last long without a nightmare, and again his heart gave an unexpected stutter of pain for him. He wanted to pull over and gather Stiles to him, smooth away the furrowed lines in his forehead and whisper the same words Laura had whispered to him after his own nightmares.

Shaking his head and focusing back on the road, Derek tried not to think of the ways he wanted to help Stiles. He tried not to focus on how much of himself he saw in Stiles, the way he was acting reminding him of those first days in New York with Laura. Derek tried not to think about how he couldn't let that happen to Stiles, couldn't let him retract into himself the way Derek himself had. It had been painful enough experiencing it, he didn't think he could watch a member of his pack, someone he cared about and was supposed to protect, go though that.

It wasn't long until Derek pulled up at Scott's house, and seeing everyone's cars in the driveway made him sigh. He'd been hoping he could at least scoop up Stiles and take him to the McCall's spare room to continue sleeping before he was bombarded with questions from the pack. Another sigh and he began to get out of the car, until Stiles' heartbeat stuttered and his hand shot out to grab Derek's forearm.

'Derek?' Stiles choked out, eyes a little wild. Carefully, Derek turned back into the car facing Stiles, the boys heart racing and sweat making his palms damp.

'Yeah, Stiles?'

'Can you.. Um.. Can you make them go away? I just.. I can't right now. I just.. Please?' Stiles stumbled over his words, more emotion than he'd heard from the boy spilling out, eyes pleading. Derek stared at Stiles until he pulled his hand away and curled in on himself again, arms tight around his waist like he was holding himself together.

'Sure I can, wait here a moment and then I'll come and let you know when they're gone.' Stiles just nodded and closed his eyes again as Derek climbed out of the car, making his way towards the house of very anxious pack members. Scott was right in front of him once he stepped into the house, the start of a line of pack. All of them crammed into the McCall's hallway.

'Where's Stiles? Is he okay? Where did you find him?' Scott has his hands out pleadingly, they all looked worried and pained.

'He's.. I don't know how he is, but he's in the car. I found him watching my house. I know you all want to see him, but he doesn't want you guys around right now. He's.. scared I think. And he's blaming himself for all of this happening. So I need you all to go over to the house or something for now and I'll come by later to talk.'

The pack grumbled, shooting him worried glances and sharing anxious words with each other, but within five minutes they'd all disappeared through the back door, leaving Derek to help Stiles for now. He was about to go and tell Stiles the coast was clear when he pushed his way through the door.

'Saw them leave through the back, thanks.' Stiles mumbled, sliding past him along the wall and heading for the stairs.

'Stiles, you need to eat something before you go to bed.' Derek called, halting the boy on the first step. He just froze, shoulders hunched like he'd been hit.

'Not hungry.' Stiles muttered. He stayed frozen in place, Derek approached him slowly, reaching out a hand to place on Stiles shoulder.

'Stiles- come on..' His fingers just about brushed over the material of the hooded jumper he was wearing that smelt like Scott when Stiles shuddered. Derek could smell the influx of salty tears in the air and feel the hitches of Stiles' breathing against his fingertips.

'Don't.' Stiles choked out, and Derek was so astonished with how broken and lost Stiles sounded that he froze and just watched as Stiles finally became unstuck from the first step and took the others up two at a time, heartbeat racing and tears leaving salty stains on drops on the floor. He listened carefully as Stiles shut the door to the bedroom quietly, and focused on the sound of his body sliding down the wood, the way his borrowed shoes sounded as they squeaked and could imagine Stiles curling up on himself again, knee's to chest. Derek listened to the way Stiles began to sob, holding back screams, and knew there was nothing he could do for him right now. It hurt him, knowing that a pack member was in pain and there was nothing he could do, but he knew it was how it had to be. Instead, he finally moved to settle into the couch, listening to Stiles' heartbeat and tears, uncomfortable with the knowledge that this pain was probably his fault.

* * *

As much as he hadn't wanted to go to sleep again, in fear of nightmares and panic attacks, Stiles couldn't help it when he closed his eyes after the sobs and choked back screams had stopped and let his head hit the pillow. His little moment with the flashback at school had exhausted him, and then exploding all of his stupid feelings on Derek had just left him with guilt, because as much as he'd meant what he'd said, he shouldn't have said it. It wasn't Derek's fault that his dad was gone, burnt up in that fire, and Stiles shouldn't want to blame him for any of it. Yet he does, because he needs someone to blame. He's trying not to think too hard about the fact that really, everything that's happened in his life recently has been because of himself. All of this pain, this loss. His fault. And Stiles just can't accept that yet.

It's absurdly surprising when Stiles wakes up, curled up into the tightest ball he can imagine, without having experienced a nightmare. He's had what he thinks it about two hours sleep, and it's turning dark outside. Stiles takes a moment to stretch, catalogue the way his muscles still ache with exhaustion and the way his stomach still grumbles in its lack of food. Trying to ignore the way that he's hungry and nauseous at the same time.

It takes too long for him to climb out of bed and make his way downstairs, but he's pretty sure that's because he knows the pack is back and he can hear voices down there that he doesn't recognise. Stiles pauses on the bottom step, knowing the wolves can hear him, whilst he tries to figure out who the new people are. They sound vaguely familiar, like a memory of a memory. Rounding the corner slowly, he's met with 11 pairs of concerned eyes raking over his body and doing the usual check for unexplained injuries or whatever. The two new people are deputies, which explains why they sounded somewhat familiar, and they make him freeze in the doorway.

"Stiles, Deputies Andrew and Musgrove would like to speak to you. It's about the findings from the fire." Melissa's eyes are kind and concerned, just like everyone elses, and it makes him feel even more sick. He just nods, staying where he is in the doorway and making the officers look uncomfortable with his lack of words, and movement.

"Do you want us to leave you alone to chat?" Melissa asks, taking a step closer to him and putting a warm hand on his shoulder, making him shiver slightly. It's been so long since something had seemed comforting, a nice kind of warm. Stiles just shakes his head and stays where he is, turning his attention to the officers stood just behind Scott's mom. He doesn't say anything, just nods his head at them to begin.

"Stiles, the arson team's investigation shows that it was an accident. Just an accident, no foul play at all. Your father, he just didn't get out in time." Deputy Andrew swallows, not meeting Stiles' eyes, whilst Deputy Musgrove speaks. "They think it was started by a gas leak from your space heater meeting a spark from a malfunction in the fryer in your kitchen. Unavoidable, if you didn't see the signs. And no one would have seen the signs. It was just an accident Stiles." They're waiting for him to say something, anything, but he can't. He's frozen. Stuck on the words space heater and fryer and he knows his heart is beating too fast and he's breathing too quickly. The wolves in the room are looking at him in concern and Lydia is piercing him with her laser beam-xray eyes but he can't fucking _move._ By the time the police leave, and he can't really be sure how long that takes, he can hardly breathe, hardly think.

"Stiles! Stiles breathe okay, take a breath with me." There's a big hand on his chest and another raising his own hand to someone elses chest. They're big, and he thinks it's Derek, and he's trying to breathe along with him so that this doesn't turn into a replay of earlier todays panic attack. It takes some time, but eventually he gets it under control, and yes it was Derek, because now he's leading him to an armchair that wasn't empty a moment ago but is now. He kneels in front of him, and a glance around the room shows that the pack is still there watching him with concern but Melissa has disappeared somewhere.

"Stiles, what's wrong? What did the officers say that caused that?" Derek's voice is calm and coaxing and all kinds of things that Derek isn't supposed to be, but it's good in a weird kind of way. Stiles can focus on Derek's voice, on his face, on the words he's saying and he can reply to them, because Derek is the only person he's actually said words to since his dad died.

"Space heater and the fryer." Stiles whispers, and he can feel the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Derek nods, looking confused.

"That's what the officer said, yeah. What about it?"

"Space heaters and fryer, Derek!" Stiles whispers urgently, blinking away his tears angrily.

"Yes, Stiles. I know. What about them?"

"When my.. when my mom- At the store when it was robbed and they- the guys. Oh, god." Stiles whimpers, he fucking _whimpers, _as he tries to blink away the tears again, swiping angrily at his face. "When my mom was shot.. when she died, she was at the store. She'd just bought a space heater and a fryer. They returned them to us after they'd finished up the case." There is silence, no body is saying anything and Stiles can feel the tension in the room rise with each gasping breath he is taking.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh God." Stiles is muttering under his breath, clinging to Derek's forearms, nails making crescent moon imprints into his skin and still no one is saying anything.

It takes a while, but the pack suddenly converges on him. They're all touching him and petting him, whispering worthless sweet words to him that have no effect. Derek has moved his arms so that Stiles' much smaller hands are encased in Derek's huge ones and he's whispering. He's the only one whispering that Stiles is paying attention to.

"It's okay Stiles. We'll figure it out, i promise we'll figure it out. It's okay. It's okay."

"No it's not. It's not okay, it'll never be okay. Not okay. Not okay, Derek. It's not." And then Stiles is screaming, curling in on himself and finally, _finally_ letting it all out as the pack holds him and comforts him and lets him know that this pain is not just his own. They're sharing it with him, crying with him and soothing him at the same time. Because it might not be okay, but the pack is there. The pack will always be there. And Stiles doesn't have to be not okay on his own.

* * *

It shouldn't, it really really shouldn't, but seeing Stiles break down like that is actually kind of a relief. Derek hasn't seen Stiles cry since the fire before today, and it's actually good to know that he isn't hiding from them anymore. Or at least, he isn't hiding as much. The pack can smell his pain, feel it rolling off him and gathering like a cloud around him, and they can feel it burst and spread when he finally lets it go, finally lets them in.

Stiles had fallen asleep huddled in the middle of the pack, and they left him like that as they whispered around him.

"So, do you think that his mom dying and his dad dying and the items are connected or..?" Erica questions quietly, petting Stiles' hair gently.

"I don't know, but i don't think we can rule it out. If we've learnt anything this year, it's that nothing is a coincidence." Danny replies, curled around Stiles' left side, head buried in the crook of his neck. Lydia scoffs at that.

"That's an understatement really, Danny. Could something have really been haunting Stiles' family for that long, though?" She questions, looking down at Derek, who's leaning against Stiles' legs. He nods, twisting his head back to look at his pack above him,

"I can imagine so. We need to look into this, but i don't want to leave him tonight. We'll pile on the spare room bed tonight and some of us can go.. investigate at his house tomorrow." The entire pack nods at him.

"I'll ring my dad in the morning, see if he's seen or heard anything about weird people or things around town recently or over the past few years. How long ago did Stiles' mom die?"

"Four years ago." Scott and Derek answer at the same time, and Scott startles, looking down at him confused.

"How did you know that?" He questions, head tilted to the side.

"Stiles is pack." Is all he replies, and it's enough, because of course Stiles is pack. Stiles is one of the most important members of the pack, he just doesn't know it yet.

And Derek will do anything, everything, to protect him.


	4. Funeral Arrangements

**I know, it's been a really long time! College and family has monopolised me and left me no time for writing, but here we are. This was insanely hard to write for some reason, but i think i'm okay with the way it came out. Let me know! :)** **Remember, i don't use a beta so all mistakes are my own!**

* * *

Now that the police had ruled it an accident, Stiles' house was released to him to do with as he wished. His father's remains were available for burial. He had forms to sign and insurance brokers to talk to. But right now, he just couldn't deal with any of that. Stiles knows it sounds utterly ridiculous, that someone had used a fryer and a space heater in order to kill both his parents. Almost unbelievable really, but although he's sure the pack is just humoring him, they check it out. Derek and Danny go to check out his house, look for anything unusual or see if they can scent any changes other than death or charred remains of what was once Stiles' home. Erica and Boyd visit the morgue to look for inaccuracies with the remains of his father. Ms. McCall and Isaac go through the insurance forms and his fathers will, having done it between them after the Kanima had killed Isaac's own father.

Stiles did nothing but pace. He wandered from one end of Scott's house to the other under the watchful eye of whichever pack members were around at the time. Once he'd woke from the puppy pile they seem to have fashioned around Scott's armchair, after the police had visited, Stiles had gone back to not talking. Not eating. He didn't need his ADD medication, his thoughts much too jumbled for anything but an overdose of Adderall that he knew Melissa wouldn't allow anyway. Over the next week, Stiles hardly even slept. Whenever he did, he would wake up less than an hour later with Isaac and Lydia curled around him, soothing him from another nightmare. He just waited in silence, back to counting numbers and seconds and the amount of worried glances exchanged between the pack in order to remember what sanity felt like.

There had been 529200 seconds since the police had informed them it was an accident, 63 offers of cups of tea, 32 offers of food and 127 worried glances between pack that he'd seen before Derek finally stopped him in his pace around the house and told him they needed to talk. Stiles just nodded and followed Derek through to the sitting room, sitting on the edge of the same seat he had taken the last time they had all talked. Everyone was gathered in here again, even Melissa, watching him with worried eyes and the sympathetic little half smiles that Stiles hated. Derek sat on the edge of the coffee table about three feet in front of him, elbows leant against his knees and hands half reached out towards Stiles.

"We looked into everything. Every scent, every strange mark, every single thing we could think off. There was nothing Stiles. It looks like it really was an accident." Stiles didn't say anything, just took a glance around the room at the pack and then back at Derek. Their worry and sympathy had turned into concern and pity. Derek though, he looked like he understood. And maybe he did. He had lost his family to fire as well, had probably spent years searching for real answers.

"Stiles?" Melissa asked gently, moving to kneel beside Stiles like he was a traumatized child. "They've done all they can now, okay? We have to start trying to move past this, make plans and such. Isaac and I helped the sheriff's department arrange the funeral and his pre-retirement death benefits. The funeral is on Monday, alright? And we can talk about the other stuff once you get some rest." Stiles counted 84 seconds before he turned his head to her and nodded once, then stood and made his way up to the bedroom he was taking up at the McCall residence. Leaving the confused, worried pack behind him in favour of another silent, sleepless evening.

* * *

The next three days (259200 seconds Stiles counted, even though he isn't quite sure how all this counting is keeping him anyway sane) pass in a blur. Danny and Lydia finally wrangle him into taking a shower, changing clothes into whatever hand me downs of Scott's he was using that day. Erica, Boyd and Jackson took it in turns to bring him food. Melissa began giving him vitamins and orange juice to combat anything he might be loosing with his poor diet at the moment. Scott and Allison lingered, chatted to him during the day, tried to get responses out of him. He still wasn't talking.

Derek was just there. Pretty much all of the time. Sat silently in the peripheral of Stiles' vision at all times. He's pretty sure the alpha even sits outside of his room during a night listening to nightmares or something, because whenever he does fall asleep it's always Derek these days waking him up from them.

Monday morning came around in the usual way, with Erica thrusting toast at him and Melissa hovering until he took his vitamin and drank his juice. Lydia or Jackson thrust clothes at him and pushed him towards the shower across the hall. Isaac and Danny were bustling around downstairs clanging dishes and pans with Scott's mom, and Derek and Boyd just watched everything with silence and blank faces.

It hardly registered that when he emerged from the shower, he had dressed in a black suit that was new and crisp, uncomfortable. Hardly noticed that all of the men were dressed the same way, and all the girls were in various versions of black dresses. Things were still a blur of faces and words and counting expressions and offers and seconds. Thoughts and feelings pushed aside in favour of noticing absolutely nothing of importance.

Stiles didn't even look at the rectangle piece of paper he was handed from Allison, didn't care when someone knocked on the door and he was suddenly surrounded by pack and being led out of the house. He waited in a circle of wolves and token pack humans whilst Melissa locked the front door. Kept counting seconds, footsteps, the amount of times a pack member crowded close enough for him to feel their breath against his skin. The kept him in a circle of their bodies until they fanned out into a semi circle behind him, and he was left staring into the clear glass windows of a hearse and straight at the shiny wooden box that now contained what was left of his father. Stiles froze, breath hitching in his throat and tears burning at the corners of his eyes, as he glanced around that big wooden box to the sea of flowers. Wreaths of all shapes and sizes, one in the sheriff's emblem. Glanced to the back of the hearse in front of him, following the flow of flowers and once again stopped everything he was doing. Held his breath and forced himself not to cry as the flowers arranged in the shape of a word. It was decorated with sprigs of lavender and immortal flowers. The same flowers his mother had favoured. Slotted in around white carnations and green foam.

_Dad._

The air that Stiles had collected in his lungs rushed out in a harsh exhale.

"How- how did they know to use those flowers?" The first words he'd uttered in nine days, voice hoarse and dry, cracking with emotion and quivering under the weight of unshed tears. Scott and Allison stepped into his line of vision, blocking the flowers from his view.

"You ask for them in any flowers you take to your mom. We figured, well.. We didn't think you'd mind us using them here." Scott replied quietly, hand outstretched and resting gently on Stiles' shaking shoulder. Stiles gasped for breath, and for words, glancing around to look at the other members of the pack surrounding him.

Eventually, he just looked down at his shoes and composed himself.

"I don't mind. He would have liked it." Is all he says, and then goes back to being cold and silent. Turning away from the hearse, he heads towards the large black car behind it and climbs in, waiting for the rest of the pack to follow him.

* * *

Stiles wished that this day would go back to being the blur that had permeated the past 788400 seconds. Instead, he got clarity and a separation from his emotions. He watched with detachment as his fathers deputies escorted the hearse and them towards the church. Observed at the front of the procession as the coffin was lifted from the car, and then followed without a word as they made their way into the church. The hundreds of others attending filtered in after him, but the pack took up the entire first rows. He listened without really listening to the talking of the vicar, and of a few of the men his father had worked with. Scott got up after them, and Stiles made himself listen intently to this bit.

"Sheriff Stilinski was a good man." He read from cards covered in writing. "Not only did he protect this town and all of the people in it as best he could, he raised a son, carried him through when his mom died. Did the best he could there too, a really good job. But Stiles isn't the only person he was a father too. When my own dad left us, Mr. Stilinski accepted my mom and me as family, looked after me like I was his own. And I know that there are friends of Stiles' here today who all considered his father as a father to them too. He spent years with us, taught us manners if we needed them, humility and modesty if we needed that. Life skills and how to fend for ourselves if need be. But most importantly, he was the one who brought us all together as a family. Nothing could have ever prepared us for the loss of Mr. Stilinski, but we are the people we are now because of him. And we will never, ever forget what he has done for us and for this town." Scott was in tears, voice cracking and Stiles is pretty sure Allison wrote that speech for him, but it kind of makes his heart swell in a way he thought he'd never feel again as Scott talks about his father being a father to the pack. It was true, even Derek came to him with problems and took advice. Around him, he could hear the crying and sniffling of the people in the church with them. The vicar came back to say prayers over his fathers coffin and Stiles can faintly recall whispering Amen's in the right place and standing at hymn's he didn't know the words too.

The swell in his chest deflated as they got back into the car and followed the hearse once again, towards the Stilinski family plot. A sickening twist formed in his stomach at the gaping hole in the ground beside where his mother was buried. Stiles stumbled out of the car, sandwiched in the line of pack members, and joined everyone else gathering around the hole in the ground with a box containing his father hanging over it. Stiles vaguely takes in the police in full uniform surrounding them, the others crying and sobbing around him. The pack stood in a line along one side of the grave, Allison on one side of him and Isaac on the other, each grasping a hand. Stiles listens as the vicar gives another prayer. Flinches at the way the words '_ashes to ashes, dust to dust' _remind him of the way he'd screamed at his mothers coffin when they'd been here burying her. He forces himself to grasp a handful of dirt once the coffin has been lowered into the ground, throwing it down over the polished square of metal with his fathers name engraved into it. The sound of it hitting wood is final and deafening, and once again Stiles is frozen. People around him begin to move away, and he hears snippets of people telling Melissa that they'll see them back at the house in an hour. The pack is still surrounding him, even once Melissa declares she has to go back to set up, and they stay with him until Stiles falls to his knee's beside his fathers fresh grave and begins to scream.

* * *

Everything after that is almost blank. Stiles thinks he recalls people crowding him, someone lifting him. He doesn't remember getting to Scott's house, but he does somewhat recall the people at the wake looking on in silent shock as he was carried through. Stiles doesn't recall being put into bed, being involved in another puppy pile, or going to sleep. When he wakes up the next morning, he's surrounded by the pack all still dressed in their funeral clothes and he feels numb. Derek is leaning against the headboard beside him, watching him with a blank expression.

"How do you feel?" He inquires quietly, carding his fingers through Isaac's hair as the wolf curls into Derek's side. Stiles shrugs and sighs, looking back up at Derek.

"What happened?" Stiles asks, glancing around at the still sleeping wolves.

"Once you stopped screaming we brought you back. You slept for-" Derek paused to lift his wrist and look at his watch. "19 hours. The rest of them fell asleep at about one this morning." Stiles lets out another sigh and struggles to shift until he's sitting up beside Derek.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." He remarks almost inaudibly. Derek doesn't reply for what feels like a really long time -it registers in Stiles' mind somewhere that this is the first time in a while he doesn't know exactly how many seconds have passed - and he's almost sure Derek didn't hear him until he whispers a reply.

"You don't do anything. No one is expecting anything of you." Stiles dares another glance at Derek to see that he has that far away look on his face that he gets when he's remembering family. It strikes Stiles that this must be hard for Derek to say, because things have always been expected of Derek since his own family perished.

"How do you deal with it, all the loss and the pain?" Derek considers the question, turning to look at Stiles.

"I don't know. I just don't let it crush me anymore. It would make everything I lost pointless. Nothing I've lost was pointless." Stiles looks away, thinking over that statement, before nodding.

"Okay." They lay there and wait for the rest of the pack to wake up slowly. They give him questioning, gentle looks which Stiles returns with pained smiles and small nods. He's still numb. He is still trying not to feel anything, but he can give them this reassurance.

Somewhere, deep in his mind, he knows that he needs to research, look into space heaters and fryers and his family history. He knows, damn it. He knows that something is going on here. Just because the police found nothing and the pack smelt nothing doesn't mean it isn't there. His family needs justice, he needs the closure. With or without them, he'll get that. But for now, he can give them these small reassurances and at least look like he's getting on with his life.


	5. Faking It

**The length of this chapter is an apology for my lack of updates. I am so sorry. I hope you like it :)**

* * *

As far as everyone can tell; or at least as far as he think everyone can tell because one can never be too sure with adolescent werewolves, Derek Hale and Lydia Martin, Stiles is doing fine now. It's been a week since the funeral, since that breakdown by his fathers grave that no one is speaking about. He hasn't been back. Can't bare to see the heap of dirt covering the wooden box containing what's left of his father. Doesn't want to know how the site managers arranged the flowers. He knows the headstone goes up sometime this week, Isaac let him know that he and Melissa had sorted that for him as well, but he isn't going to see it. He isn't going back. Same as he didn't visit his mothers grave for a year after she died until his father dragged him there.

There is no one to drag him to his fathers, so hopefully he can avoid that unmitigated pain this time.

Lydia dragged him to the bank two days ago, when he was officially speaking and eating again, to sort out inheritance and his fathers pension and benefits and life insurance policies. Stiles didn't really care, money is worthless to him right now, but none the less he is now the proud owner of a large sum of money, because of life insurance policies for both his parents and the fact that his father had more than 30 years on the force. It's somewhere close to the $500,000 mark, more he thinks, and yeah that had caused about half a minute of flailing and planning, until he remembered that the only reason he has that is because he is now officially an orphan and he still needed to figure out who or what killed the most important people in his life.

When Jackson sat him down and told him he needed to think about getting his life back, which apparently included somewhere to live and his own clothes and maybe going back to school. Stiles agreed without really thinking about what that meant. Until he came back to him with Danny and blueprints and plans to rebuild his old house.

"No." Stiles growls, shoving the plans back into Danny's arms.

"My father said he will contact good people to sort the construction, build it back to the way it was Stiles. I thought that's what you wanted?" Jackson's brow is furrowed in confusion, arms hanging loosely by his sides but with his fists clenched. Stiles feels bad for about half a minute because Jackson clearly went to a lot of trouble sorting this for him, but it soon passes in his resolute desire to never, ever be back in that house, living on that land again.

"It's your families home, Stiles. Your land. Why don't you want that back?" He inquires when Stiles offers no response. Danny is clutching the plans, steps back from the duo talking and looking somewhere between worried and sympathetic. Stiles steps forward, nose to nose almost with Jackson.

"Exactly, family home. My family is dead, Jackson. Dead." He's growling, as close to tears as he's been since the funeral. "That land is fucking cursed. Salt the goddamn earth around it and then sell it to some other sap that wants to lose everything. I am. Never. Going. Back. There." Stiles spits out, then turns and brushes past them and up to the room he's still taking up at the McCall household. He can hear Danny calling to him, then whispering to Jackson in the room below him but he doesn't care.

What he'd said to Jackson had actually been a lie. He's been back there every day since the pack stopped watching him like a hawk, same time of night as the fire happened, and just sits on the curb. The space is still cordoned off with police tape, a pile of broken and burnt wood and remnants of his entire families life resting behind it. Ash coats the lawn all the way back to the tree line behind -what used to be- his house. They've taken away the mangled wreck that was his Jeep, and his fathers cruiser.

Stiles can't get any closer to the house than the curb, can't bare to be any closer to the awful choking smell of smoke and death that surrounds the place. Instead he just sits at the curb, knee's drawn up to his chest and waits. Watched. For what, he's not exactly sure yet, but he's watching for something. There's logic in it, somewhere. That he is the last remaining member of the Stilinski family and obviously someone has been targeting them. If he's right, and he's certain he is, they will come looking for him and he'll either go the same way as his family or find a way to get revenge for what it had done.

He's not entire sure which of those options he wants.

Stiles isn't exactly suicidal, per say, but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought that being with his family where ever they are now they're dead wouldn't be the better option. It's been a passing thought everyday since he'd been sitting at the curb, and although he hadn't got as far as to make plans or put anything into action, it's still tempting when he lets that pain wash over him and all thoughts of pack and friends and a future after this are gone. He really isn't sure how things will go once he's figured out what killed his parents, and he knows he'll be labelled a coward and weak and selfish, but it's a possibility if this pain just keeps going.

It takes a lot of muttering downstairs between Danny and Jackson, and some self-hatred from Stiles for treating Jackson's efforts the way he did, before he sucks up what little pride he has left and goes to apologise. Standing in the doorway, hands twisting together behind him, taking a deep breath, he steps inside and coughs.

"Listen, Jackson. I- just.. I didn't mean it the way I said it. I guess you went to a lot of effort getting your.. Getting those plans. And really, thank you, but I just can't. Can't go back there. Do you think we can look at getting an apartment or something?" Jackson gave him a small, genuine smile - one that took a lot of time for him to let the pack see - he just nodded his head and handed over the laptop he and Danny had been hunched over.

"I didn't ask you about building the house, just thought it was what you wanted. So I'm sorry, but we figured you might want to look at apartments. There are some one bed and some two. We weren't really sure how big you wanted." With a small smile, not genuine because he doesn't quite know how to do that anymore, he takes the offered laptop and slumps into the sofa space they had made between them. He scrolls through a page for an estate agent, trying to figure what he wanted.

"I think- definitely more than one bedroom right? Cause no house is safe from the pack, and yeah Derek's house is built now but I don't want to be relegated to there if I wanna spend some time with any of you?"

"Sure. That's why Danny and I got such a big loft, and Lydia has her apartment, which is huge. But I think that's cause she uses the bedrooms as chemistry labs or secret lairs." Jackson chuckled, gaining a snort from both Stiles and Danny. "And there's some stupidly cheap two and three's, whether you want to buy or rent."

"Can I afford to buy?" Jackson shoots him an incredulous look.

"Dude, you have like enough to buy two houses if you wanted to. In this town anyway, prices are low." Stiles nods, having forgotten the amount of money now gracing his bank account and goes back to searching through the agent's website. The ones that look homely, the kinds of places he and his father had been looking at when Stiles was first talking about moving out a year ago, were ones he skipped over now. Jackson and Danny kept pointing them out, commenting on how the colours or the layout were exactly him. It wasn't what he wanted though. Not somewhere that looked lived in and family orientated, because yeah he might have the pack over some times, but not once has he called them family since his dad died and he doesn't think he can deal with something that would remind him of his dad right now.

"There. I like this one." It's stupidly cheap for what it is. Only $105,000 to buy and apparently that makes a tiny dent in the money he has. Top level on a new building midtown, three bedrooms, open living and kitchen area, a study, large bathroom. Clean, white walls, black marble, bright light. Floor to ceiling windows on one wall. A balcony. Chrome appliances. Something without family, just function, just modernity, things Stiles could not get attached to and won't miss so much if it burns to the ground. He feels rather than sees the look Jackson and Danny give him over his head.

"Are you sure? It's very… clean." Danny comments, trying to sound nonchalant about his concern.

"Clean is good. Means I don't have to worry about decorating, has plenty of room and it says it's ready to move into immediately. What is not to like here?" Valid points, still not very Stiles, but it'll work and he does need to move out of the McCall house as soon as he can. It's been nice of them, but his pride and his need for some alone time are over taking his gratefulness.

"Well.. Okay then. You want to go down now and sort this out? They say they're open to drop ins at anytime in their mission statement at the top." Stiles shrugs and nods, depositing whoever's laptop it is onto the table and standing. This is good, moving on, being convincingly fine.

"Sure why not." He pauses to think about anything else he might need while he's out. "And can someone ring Lydia? I need to go clothes shopping."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Lydia and Jackson take over the buying of the apartment. Stiles just sits beside Danny looking vaguely lost and wide eyed, and the woman who's selling the apartment lets it go at the first offer of $98,000, $7000 less than asked. He's sure it's because every single person in this town knows now he's the almost 18 year old with no parents, who's father was the Sheriff that died in a tragic house fire. This might be the one and only time that will work somewhat in his favour. It'll be ready tomorrow as long as they sign a bunch of things right now. Lydia pushes a pen into his hand and points at the places with the little crosses.

"You're sure you don't want to see it now, sweetie?" The woman asks one last time as he signs his name on the bottom of a check that Jackson pulled out of a check book Stiles didn't even know he had for the account.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, thank you. What time can we pick up the keys?"

"We open at ten tomorrow morning, they'll be waiting for you then." She grins, forgetting about her concerns and Stiles can see the happiness at her commission sparkling in her eyes. He nods; Jackson, Danny and Lydia say goodbye to the woman and then they're out of there.

"So, shopping? You need clothes, obviously. But now you're going to need towels and bedding and all that stuff, right? It's a good job I know what the apartment looks like or you would be in so much trouble, mister." Lydia babbles to him, arm linked through his and leading him to her car. Jackson and Danny leave them to it, heading back to the Hale house, while Lydia rambles about colours and decoration and clothes until they pull into the street that does not have a mall but tiny expensive shops that he's never been in before.

"Lydia, what are we doing here?" She shoots him a _'are you kidding me look' _and sighs.

"Shopping." And, yep, she still has that condescending tone he remembers from the years of ignoring him.

"Why are we here? The mall is..y'know. Big and affordable and has all the things I usually wear." Lydia's nose wrinkles in a way he used to think was adorable.

"I do not shop at the mall, Stiles. And anyways, what you used to wear was two sizes too big and made you look like five years younger than you actually are. New start, new Stiles. Okay? Anyway, they have the best home boutiques here." There is literally no point in arguing with her. None. At. All. With a sigh of resignation, he drags himself out of the car and jogs after Lydia who is swiftly disappearing into a shop that usually only Jackson would be seen in. Filled with button ups and blazers, skinny jeans in dark 'sophisticated' colours and subtle converse and loafers. Cardigans, sweaters, v-necks and fancy Ralf Lauren underwear that is stupidly soft and $8 a pair.

"You know, just cause I have money now doesn't mean we have to spend it all in one day."

"Shut up, Stiles." She smiles sweetly, something he takes to mean the next hours of his life are going to be Lydia style torture. Lydia is like a whirlwind, gathering shirts and trousers and blazers to hold up against him before shoving the ones she approves into his arms. "Now, try these on and show me all of them." He hadn't even realised she had organised them into outfits as she'd thrust them at him until he stumbled into the changing room and hung the pieces on hooks inside the door.

"Why is everything so tight?" Stiles complains as he emerges out of the stall for the sixth time, tugging at the v-neck and blazer he was wearing with a pair of stupid grey skinny jeans.

"Because it fits. Now stop tugging and stand still so I can take a look." He does, because he does not want to repeat the first outfit fiasco where she had harped at him until he slammed his hands over his ears and held still for her assessment. Five minutes of contemplation and then she gives him a nod, approval given, and Stiles sighs in relief because that was the last outfit he had to try on. It takes no time at all for him to change back into his borrowed clothes from Scott and follow Lydia back into the main store, where she embarrassingly pushes an unknown amount of boxers his way and then continues on to the till.

"Lydia, sweetheart!" The woman behind the counter coo's, leaning over to peck his friend on the cheek. "No Jackson today?" She asks, pout of discontent clear in the lines of her mouth once Lydia shakes her head. Instead, she nods to Stiles, and the woman's face changes into that familiar expression of pity and false concern.

"Ah, my dear. You brought him to a good place." Lydia smiles and nods, already knowing that she is the queen of all the good decisions. Stiles is a firm believer in not expanding her ego any further. "Did you find what you needed?"

The question is directed at him in a soft voice and he wants to scream that no. No he did not. Because how can one boutique have what he needs, when what he needs is his family and his home and his life back? When he's lost everything. How can her over priced clothes be what he needed? Instead he just gives the woman a nod, deposits his clothes down on the counter and hands over his new debit card. Apparently, that came at the same time as his surprise check book.

"Six hundred dollars, Lydia?" He hisses as they leave the shop and she just shoots him the patented _'I am the all knowing queen of everything and you need to shut up' _look, leading him down the street and towards a home décor store. There is nothing to say to that look without releasing the wrath of Lydia's ego onto himself so he shuts up and once again follows her into a store. He's pretty sure he should just hand over his card for the rest of forever because clearly Lydia is running his bank account now.

"So I was thinking, colours right? You like red, I'm sure we could work red in. Might have to paint a wall or something though. And your room? You want that in neutrals or colours because you need to decide right now if you're moving in tomorrow and-"

"No colours. No reds. Black, white, chrome. Clean and functional, modern." She's kind of frozen and Stiles counts this as a first, a win on the Stiles side of the Stiles VS. the queen war of wits and stubbornness that has been going for almost 8 years now. Lydia, however, recovers from his brief win far too quickly.

"Stiles, colours and style are what makes a home. I've told you that before right? You know I designed the décor for Derek's house and it looks great. And no offence, but you're not the most clean and functional person. You are like the king of colours and being uncoordinated. You take Adderall just to think most days!" Smug voice is back, but Stiles is certain he's heading for point two for Stiles in this war so it doesn't bother him too much.

"I haven't taken Adderall since he died, Lydia." There it is. Point two. It's not much to catch up with Lydia's multi-million Stiles VS. the queen war points but it's something. She's sort of paused, mouth open in a 'oh' and she slowly puts down the red cushion she is holding.

"Okay then, modern, clean and functional it is."

He ends up with black bath towels but white everything else towels. Chrome coffee tins, lamps, kitchen appliances and cutlery. Black and white bed sheets and comforter covers for all three bedrooms, black and white throw cushions for bedrooms and sofa's. Chrome photo frames because apparently Lydia is demanding some kind of homely function is the form of pack pictures. Then, finally, another $500 and a seriously exhausted Stiles later, they pile back into Lydia's car and head to Scott's.

* * *

Derek realises as he helps the others help Stiles move into his new place that he's fallen for Stiles' rather amazing acting. The boy is far from okay. He should have realised it sooner, but he's been avoiding him a little since he's spent the night with the pack and Stiles after the funeral. Waking up to Stiles cuddled into his side had brought up feelings he'd been fighting hard since things had evened out in Beacon Hills. Now was not the time to act on them, or figure it out with Stiles, so he'd stayed away as much as possible and hoped that the reports coming in from the pack that Stiles was finally moving on with his life were somewhat true.

It was a stupid thing to do. Goes against all his rules to take that information for granted without fully checking it out himself.

The first clue is that the apartment is familiar to him. A much larger version of the one he and Laura had stayed in when they were hiding in Boston after the Hale fire. She'd chosen it because it was exactly the opposite of their house, the family home. It was blank, a canvas that could have been something beautiful but wasn't. Filled with things they hadn't bought, that weren't theirs, because you can't get attached to things that have no meaning to you. It won't hurt so much if they lost this all too.

The second is that Stiles stinks of the smoke from his house, like he'd been close to it a lot recently. And smoke is a smell Derek is finely attuned to. It's like he's been sitting near it for hours and then tried to wash the smell away in a shower and deodorant.

The final clue is more like Stiles is acting like himself but not himself. Smiling, talking lightly, laughing occasionally. Yet he's not saying anything important, he's laughing like it's forced and the smiles are tiny and most certainly not genuine. There is a tiny, almost undetectable blip in his heart beat when he says that he's fine that tells Derek that he's lying. And he isn't touching anyone.

Stiles is a tactile person, or, at least he used to be. Climbing all over people in hugs and cheers and high fives until they either gave in or punched him. Now, he's being very careful to take the things handed to him without brushing fingers. There are no forced hugs as they come to the door, no high fives or stupid hand shakes with Scott when he and Jackson deposit a new TV and an x-box on the stand that came with the apartment, gifts from the entire pack. No shoulders connecting lightly as he walks around people and places things as Lydia directs him. It hadn't registered until now that although Stiles' scent is always around them, none of them smell like him directly anymore. They all used to smell like they were rolling around with him, and now none of them smell like contact, just like they've been in his general vicinity. This no touching thing has been going on a while now.

Derek sticks around while the pack dwindles out. They'd helped him get everything set up, Jackson promised to send him the information for cable and internet tomorrow because apparently he just pays utilities to the owner of the building so he doesn't need to do that. Scott leaves last with Allison, arm wrapped around her and doesn't even try for a hug or a 'bro-shake'. Derek is still there, leaning against the wall beside the full glass windows.

"You know, top floor of a midtown building with a wall of glass windows? Not the best for werewolves. Should have thought about that before I bought it, huh?" Stiles chuckles, but Derek can feel the exhaustion and nervousness behind the statement. He snorts anyway, 'cause yeah that's true. There is a reason everyone else lives in pretty secluded area's and his own house is in the middle of the woods.

"This apartment should have been considered completely before you bought it. It is nothing like what I thought you'd get." Derek comments, glancing over his shoulder towards the kitchen where Stiles is leaning against a black marble topped breakfast counter. He thinks it's lucky that Allison thought to bring some food to fill his kitchen with, cause Stiles probably just went back to not eating if she hadn't. As it is, someone will probably need to cook for him to get him to eat anyways.

"I don't know what you mean, it's a nice apartment." Stiles wasn't looking at him, but just past him out of the window. Just another indication of the wrongness around Stiles. No eye contact, for a while he hasn't met someone's gaze. Again he's left wondering how he missed such blatant indications that Stiles was not how Stiles said he was, when he was supposed to be the alpha here.

"Yeah, it's nice." Derek is really not sure how to approach this. Emotions and talking are still not his forte even though he is surrounded by teenagers who could win Olympic gold's in chatting bullshit and having existential crisis'.

"Then I don't understand everyone's issue with this place." Stiles complains petulantly, almost convincingly if Derek wasn't expecting the fake '_I'm still the same' _crap that the boy was playing. He drags a hand down his face and sighs before moving to slump down onto the admittedly comfortable corner sofa.

"It's just- When Laura and I.. When we first left after the fire we stayed in this place in Boston. It was like a smaller version of this. White and blank. Could have been beautiful, but every time I asked her about buying things and making it home for a while, she would refuse and tell me it didn't need it. I didn't understand why for a long time." Stiles looks somewhere between confused and worried.

"Okaayyy.. What has this got to do with this apartment? Cause don't get me wrong, I like hearing about your past and your family but I'm not seeing the connection. I bought things, put them in the apartment."

"Yeah I know you did, but it's all stuff that come have come with the place. Not.. Colourful, not jumbled. Nothing like someone who takes Adderall on a daily basis would choose." Stiles huffs and glares to the side of his head.

"Why does everyone say that? Lydia mentioned the Adderall too. It's like you're not all werewolves with amazing scent skills. I haven't taken it since the.. Since he died." Derek took a deep breath in, testing for the familiar chemical scent of the medication and finds it not there, and once again how did he not notice that?

"Still, colours Stiles. Before this happened everything about you was bright, was colourful. Now it's all black, greys, whites? It feels wrong. It feels like Laura all over again and she did it because it wouldn't hurt so much if we lost is again. You're not going to lose this Stiles. You're not going to get hurt again." Stiles scoffs and hops down from the counter he had hopped up onto.

"That was before, Derek. And I'm not Laura." His voice is shaky and Derek knows he's right. "If you're staying you can take a guest room. I'm going to bed." He's gone along the hallway to the room he's claimed before Derek can reply. Sitting there, Derek listens intently as Stiles changes into bed clothes that Danny had brought over because Lydia had only taken him for fashionable day clothes. He can smell the salt of faint tears and resignation as Stiles folds himself into bed and Derek decides he's going to stay. Because he'd made the mistake of leaving Laura once when she smelt like that and he'd come home to find her high on a mixture of weak wolfs bane and weed, stood on the edge of the balcony railing, singing about how she could be free. How she could fly. And if she'd fallen it would have hurt but she might have survived. A glance at Stiles' balcony, top of the building, and he knows Stiles wouldn't survive. And Derek isn't sure whether this similar behaviour pattern would continue, but he won't risk it.

He won't lose Stiles too.


	6. Missing Scents

**I have been gone so, so long. I'm sorry! I don't even really have a good excuse, just work and college is all. **

**But, i am back now! So, hopefully you like this. I'll be writing a lot more frequently from now on, i think.**

**Unbeta'd'- all mistakes are my own.**

* * *

It had been around half three in the morning when Derek finally fell asleep in the guest room, and Stiles was still there, alive, when he woke up four hours later. Although, once he was close enough to see him wandering around in the kitchen, he could see the dark smudges under his eyes from getting no sleep, and that awful scent of smoke still permeated the air around him.

"Stiles." Derek called out from the hallway entry, mere feet away from where Stiles was standing in the kitchen. The resulting jump from Stiles was amusing, but the scent of a sudden spike of fear, and then relief when he noticed who it was, was hardly worth the humour.

"Jeez, Derek. Don't sneak up on a guy like that!" Stiles exclaimed overdramatically, hand to his chest. Although, Derek could actually still hear the abnormally fast pace to his heart.

"Sorry." Derek shrugged with his 'sorry-but-not-really' expression, as Stiles had once called it, plastered on his face. Taking in a deep breath, Derek grimaced and shifted closer to where Stiles was stood in the kitchen.

"Where did you go when I was asleep?" He asked once he was leaning against the breakfast bar, across the marble top from Stiles. The other boy's expression went suddenly blank, all easily identifiable emotion scents coming from him slipped away as Stiles locked himself down.

"Nowhere." Derek nodded, but called him on it.

"Then why do you smell like smoke?" Stiles let out a humourless chuckle.

"Dude, are you hallucinating smells now? Cause there is no way I smell like smoke." Derek didn't grace him with a reply, instead moving around the counter until he was stood directly beside him, nose close to the skin of Stiles' neck as he breathed him in.

"You do. You smell like the smoke from your house." He ground out, hand wrapped tightly around Stiles' wrist.

"I don't know man, that's weird. Let's just chalk it up to another mystery in our lives and move on from this frankly worrying conversation now, yes?" Derek sighed, but let go and moved away. There was no way Stiles was going to give up what had been going on any time soon, and pushing would only result in frustration for both of them, and possibly Stiles kicking Derek out of the apartment.

Stiles turns away from him, pulling eggs, milk and flour out from the kitchen, searching for sugar with a blank face before he decided to turn around again and remember that Derek was still there.

"You want pancakes?" He asks, like the previous conversation hadn't just happened; and although Derek is relieved that Stiles is actually making breakfast, he is also worried that something deeper is going on here. He knows it is, in fact, but there is no way to make Stiles talk to him about it and Derek can't spend every moment with the kid until there is certainty that nothing will happen. Instead of saying any of this, or anything at all, Derek just shrugs and gets on with making a fresh pot of coffee. It makes Stiles huff in annoyance that he didn't get a reply, but he makes enough pancake batter for two people. Derek counts this as a win.

* * *

He is no longer counting this as a win.

Stiles is sneaky, and Derek almost doesn't realise it happening; but Stiles cuts and pushes his food around his plate, pressing a tiny bite into his mouth every five minutes or so, and chats incessantly in-between. Just last week, Derek had been praying to Gods that he didn't even believe in for Stiles to get back to being the annoying, talkative adolescent they all knew and some what begrudgingly cared for. This should have been some kind of hard won miracle, but Stiles uses it as a distraction until he has been sat at the breakfast bar long enough to fool Derek into thinking he's eaten more than he has. He then hops up, scrapes a surprising amount of food into the trash and then disappears for a shower. It's not until Derek is washing his own plate that he realises no more than three miniscule bites passed Stiles' mouth the entire time, and he curses everything for letting himself believe that things might just be getting better in some aspects of Stiles' life.

Derek sighs and paces in the kitchen before deciding that now is probably not the best time to confront Stiles, given that he's already shut him out of whatever is going on once this morning. Instead, he waits until he hears Stiles in his room getting ready and then leaves. He needs to head home, shower and change himself, and then he needs to call a pack(sans Stiles) meeting in order to work out a new kind of semi-rota until they can be comfortable that Stiles is safe, even from himself.

* * *

The pack is not as unobservant as he thought; that is, at least everyone but Scott who, honestly, can be pretty astute when he needs to be unless it regards his best friend, and then suddenly he's back to being the pack simpleton. Lydia sways into the den of the very recently refurbished Hale house - only outside structure to be repainted now - and demands to know what the hell Derek is planning on doing about Stiles' late night trips.

"What late night trips?" Derek questions, honestly confused. If Stiles had been going anywhere, surely he would have heard him leave last night. And seriously, where can he be going that's massively important without a car? Lydia just gives him a 'you're an idiot' glare and a put upon sigh before gesturing to Danny.

"Go ahead, tell him." Danny swallows but nods, stepping out from beside Jackson.

"I might have, not long ago, installed a tracking app into Stiles' phone. Just for safety purposes, Y'know, cause he is _always _getting kidnapped." Jackson huffs in amusement until Erica elbows him in the side.

" Anyways, for the past two weeks or something, he's been going to his old house."

"As in, the one that burnt down." Scott adds, unhelpfully. The poor kids face is twisted in confusion, like he doesn't understand why Stiles would do that, and Derek is glad that Allison pets his hair like he's an actual confused puppy. If she hadn't, Derek isn't sure he could have resisted the urge to do it. Condescendingly, of course.

"Well yes, Scott. Which other house is he going to be going to?" Isaac comments, somewhat hysterically. He looks like he hasn't gotten any sleep for a few days, and Derek knows it's probably from worry. When Stiles had been taken for the third time, last year, Isaac had worked himself up so much he made himself sick. Surprisingly, it's always Jackson that helps Isaac through these episodes, and Derek watching with a small sense of pride as Jackson pulls Isaac towards him and runs fingers through his curls until Isaac is breathing normally again. Scott has forgotten about it by the time they get back to talking again.

"Anyone know why?" Derek asks, arms folded tightly across his chest, leaning against the sofa. A general quiet falls over the room as they all consider, but it's not long until a general consensus of 'not a fucking clue' is decided upon.

"Why don't we just go over there an ask?" Lydia suggests, twirling her hair around her finger as she scrolls through her phone. It will forever annoy Derek, the way she can look so totally uninterested in the middle of an important conversation, even if she is fully invested in the current situation.

"I don't think that's the best idea right now." He replies, thinking back on the way Stiles had closed down on him this morning, and the way he'd smelt like salty tears and resignation last night.

"He's not as fragile as you might think, Derek. And surely you'd rather he know we know, then let him get away with it and something happen, right?" Lydia pushes her phone back into her bag, flicking her hair behind her ear as she looks up and fixes him with a pointed look. Derek knows that Lydia knows - Lydia always knows, it's_ creepy_- why he stayed with Stiles last night. Why he's so obviously worried. They stare at each other for a while, silently arguing the pros and cons of making a surprise visit to Stiles. It's a skill that took them next to little time to develop, once they'd gotten past the whole Peter-Necromancer-Wolfsbane Dust debacle. She would have made a good mate, if Derek was remotely interested in being terrified of a woman in his bed the rest of his life, and if she wasn't about two full moons away from being moon-wed, fully mated, to his second in command.

"Fine, okay. Lets go." Derek finally concedes, leading them out of the house. Luckily, the majority of them have their own cars now, so there are no more 'shotgun' arguments or juvenile races to the car to deal with. It takes a surprisingly small amount of time for them all to get on their way to their final pack member.

* * *

Lydia leads them upstairs, spare key in hand, towards the apartment, but even from outside Derek can tell Stiles isn't there. Or, given that he can't hear a heartbeat, there is no one alive in there. It's not a train of thought he wants though, so he pushes it away and follows Lydia up and up until she is pushing open Stiles' door. It takes her only one look around the room and a moment of listening before she turns to him, hands on her hips.

"Why didn't you just tell me outside he wasn't here?" Derek sometimes forgets that Lydia got training in her own abilities, that she has almost supernatural senses if she hones them in carefully, concentrates them delicately. Derek shrugs.

"Had to check." Is all he gets out as the rest of the pack pile into the room behind them.

"Dude, why did we even come up? Most of us could hear from downstairs that he wasn't here, right?" The others groan and Boyd rumbles 'idiot' under his breath, making Erica grin.

"Okay, Scott, you can stay here with the girls because you are clearly of little use today." Derek drawls out, earning himself an annoyed, amusing sound from Scott and titters of laughter from the others.

"You guys." He points to everyone that isn't Allison, Lydia or Scott. "With me. We're going to see if Stiles is at his.. House." Lydia scowls at him, as she always does when she is made to stay behind, but Allison just concedes and drags a complaining Scott behind her to collapse down on Stiles' sofa. The others just nod, and Jackson presses a kiss to Lydia's forehead before they head out.

It takes an abnormal amount of time to get from mid-town to the area Stiles' house used to stand, and he's reminded once again that he probably should have talked to Stiles before he bought an apartment. If moving into his old, family home when it had still been a burnt wreck was unhealthy for him, then surely Stiles avoiding his like it never even existed isn't any better?

Although, the level of that avoidance is now in question, but still. Unhealthy.

Jackson and Danny meet up with him at the house first, muttering about how Stiles' heartbeat didn't even stutter in a lie when he'd told them a few days ago that he'd never come back here. Boyd, Isaac and Erica joining them a moment later. Stiles scent is heavy at the kerb, and Isaac breathes in deeply. Derek can see him memorising it all over again, the way he had with one of Stiles' sweaters when he's been taken last year, and his heart aches for the innocence that still exists inside of Isaac.

"It kind of just stops right here." Erica comments, sniffing deeply. Stiles would have made a dog joke, but Derek can't bring himself to make any he can think of off the top of his head. That's all Stiles territory, taking over for him in his absence has always felt wrong.

It makes him imagine what life would be like if Stiles was gone from their life permanently. How much less laughter, joking, happiness there would be. It's not a pretty image in his mind, so he shakes it off and focuses again.

"Spread out and see if you can find his scent anywhere else." He directs, nodding across the burnt, scorched land before them. Each of his beta's nod, heading off with their heads up and down, kneeling if they think they have something. They work as a team these days, and it's refreshing compared to the mess they were when all of this first started.

Maybe five minutes later, when Derek can't quite put his finger on what the hell is wrong here, why he isn't smelling anything important, Jackson turns to him in panic.

"Derek. What can you smell?" Jackson's eyes are wide, and they all converge around him.

"Nothing. What can you smell?" Jackson nods his head and then shakes it like he has his own awful images in there.

"That's exactly it. Why didn't we notice it? That's the problem, we can't smell anything. There isn't the smell of smoke, or wood, or general day to day smells. Derek, this place is entire devoid of, well, anything." Everyone is frozen, breathing in deeply, trying to catch a scent of something. Derek makes a quick circuit, trying to find the edge of the no-scent space. It only extends to where they can smell Stiles on the kerb, and to the tree line of what used to be the Stilinski families garden. Everything between that is scent-less.

"Holy shit." Erica breathes out when he makes his way back to them, confused.

"Stiles was right. Something did this."

* * *

It most certainly not been scheduled in Stiles diary to be kidnapped by some kind of creepy stalker magic chick inside of a confusingly convincing feedback loop that looks exactly like his house before it burnt down. Yet, here he is. Frozen by some kind of blue, swirling magic around his waist with said creepy stalker magic chick pacing erratically in front of him, muttering illegibly. All he had done was move past the kerb, taken a step further, and then suddenly things had changed. This band of trapping magic had hit him, a whoop of horrifying success had been ripped from a girl who just was suddenly _there, _and his house had been perfect and whole around him again.

He'd known it all along, something weird was going on with his parents death.

Stupid werewolves.

The girl stopped pacing suddenly, glancing around like she was seeing something he wasn't, and who knows? Maybe she is. Hallucination might be a special part of her particular brand of crazy.

Then again, he is currently standing inside a perfect image of a house he is sure burnt to the ground. So who, in this equation, is really insane?

Crazy girl turns to him with a feral grin, laughing slightly.

"Your wolves appear to have finally noticed something is amiss." She crows, high voice making Stiles want to cover his ears in annoyance. Shame, that his arms were trapped by his sides inside of the magic fucking bubble.

"Who are you?" Stiles manages to get out in-between his minds conversations and his bodies innate need to panic. Crazy girl laughs manically, skips towards him in what comes across as a childish and somewhat horrifying move, and circles until she is stood directly behind him, breathing hot air into his ear and along his neck.

"Your worst nightmare." The voice croons again and Stiles bursts out in laughter, because, seriously? That is such a cheesy horror movie line it's actually unbelievable.

"Why are you laughing?!" Creepy demands, coming to stand in front of him, hands on her slim hips.

"That was- man. Did you take horror movie acting classes along with your magic training, because if so you didn't get what you paid for, at all." She huffs out in annoyance, coming to stand directly in front of him. Her hands raise up, cupping his face between them.

"I'm surprised you don't recognise me, Genim." Crazy whispers to him. Only his family, and Scott, knows his actual first name. (Maybe Danny too, but that's because hacker genuis of the pack has secret files on freaking _everyone_.)

"I don't- I don't know who you are." Stiles whispers back. She steps away from him with a scowl on her face, brushing her hands on her jeans like touching him had dirtied her.

"Well then-" The scowl turns into a much more terrifying grin.

"I'll just have to show you."


	7. Family Connections

The woman prowled around him like she was inspecting him, dragging a finger along his shoulder's as she passed by him. Stiles tried his best not to flinch away from her, but it was impossible, the drag of her finger bled through his t-shirt, like ice in a thin line across his skin. It almost burnt, and she laughed as he tried to pull away, trapped in the circle of power crazy girl had around him. The feeling disappeared a moment later, skipping back into view a moment later with the same manic grin on her face.

"I'm going to show you now." Crazy leant forward, whispering into his ear. He was so focused on not letting her lips touch his skin that he didn't see her hand rising, the cold, burning feeling returned at the back of his neck. Spreading through from each of her fingertips and infecting her brain. The pain was unbearable, like each cell inside of his head was crystallising and stopping. Somewhere, what seemed like miles away, he could hear a horrid keening noise echoing around. It took longer than it should to realise it was him, and by the time he could gather the will to make the sounds stop, everything else around him faded.

The cold was down to a faint chill at the back of his neck, the girl was just a faint whisper at his side, a shadow in his peripheral. In front of him, it was like everything had changed and had not at the same time. His family home was all together, things in all the same places, but the items were newer, cleaner. It was the same image he had seen in pictures from when his mom and dad had first moved into their home.

There was a faint whisper of a giggle against his ear, and a moment later both his parents, younger versions of them, appeared in the room. Stiles' throat constricted, he could feel tears in his eyes and a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Mom." He choked out past the lump in his throat.

"They can't hear you." The voice against his ear coo's at him, humour evident in her voice. He could imagine the smug curve of the crazy girls smile, wanted to break free of whatever was holding him and break his number one _'don't hit a girl' _rule. Before him, the vision of his parents came into clearer view, their voices echoing through to him.

"_He's a child!" His father exclaimed, one hand thrown out and gesturing to the stairs._

"_A child, maybe, but he's powerful John! Let my family take him, just until it's over, he can help them." His mother pleaded, stepping towards his dad. The Sheriff took a step back, dragging a frustrated hand down his face in a move that Stiles remembered from growing up. The familiar movement sparked a pang of grief in his chest._

"_When you told them you were marrying me, having a child with me, they disowned you. They told you they wanted nothing to do with a filthy hybrid child. You can't let them take him!" His mom's face twisted in pain, tears in her eyes. All Stiles could feel was the pain of grief for his parents and confusion._

"_They will not be strong enough to pass, without him. They'll die, John. I can't let them die."_

"_Why not!?" His dad shouted. "Why not? They would have let you die when you told them about me, and about Genim. You owe them nothing! And he's seven, Aria. He's a child, you can't risk him this way." Stiles watched as his mom deflated, eyes turned towards the stairs leading up to where he knew his younger self would be sleeping. _

"_They're my family, John." His mom was crying softly, his dad sighed, pulling her towards him into a tight hug, a kiss pressed to her forehead._

"_We're your family now, sweetheart."_

The scene changed a little, his parent's clothes changed, his mother looked drawn and haggard, and a younger version of himself was walking into the room.

"Look at how adorable you were, Genim." The voice sniggers beside him, the pressure of cold against his neck increasing.

"Keep watching." She whispered as the scene came into focus again.

"_Mommy?" Little Stiles tugged at her sleeve, brushing tears away from his face. His dad swept up behind him, picking him up and sandwiching him between both his parent's warm, comforting bodies in a way that Stiles had forget they ever did. _

"_Wha'sa matter kiddo?" His mom's fingers brushed through his hair gently behind him, her other hand rubbing gentle circles on his back through his Spiderman shirt. _

"_Had a bad dream." Genim mumbles, burying his face into his dad's shoulder and rubbing away his tears on his police academy shirt. _

"_Oh, sweetie. What about?" His mom asked sweetly, pressing a kiss to the back of his head. He twisted in his dads arms to look behind him at his mom._

"_There was these p-people," Little Stiles hiccupped, continuing when his mom nodded softly, "they were shouting funny words at each other, and some of them were falling down and their noses were bleeding and all these little girls and boys they were- mommy they were scared!" Over the little version of him's head, his mom and dad shared a very pointed look. It was like the silent conversations they used to have, from the memories that he can recall of them when they were younger. Eventually, with tears in her eyes, his mom buried her face in his hair and pressed kisses against him until he settled against his dad's shoulder._

"_It's okay, baby." His mom coo'd. At the time, he remembers feeling calm and safe with them, now he can hear the choked emotion behind his mom's word, can see the worry and anger and pain in his dad's eyes. Slowly, he could see little him falling asleep against his dad with his mom pressed against them. They shared another look between them._

"_It wasn't a dream, was it?" Dad's voice was tight, controlled like he remembers when he was frustrated or worried. Mom shook her head._

"_He's getting the images through the link. John-" Stiles could see his mom crying against him, her breathing laboured. _

"_I know, Aria. I'm sorry, i'm so sorry." _

"He wasn't sorry." The peripheral shadow told him, her voice as cold as the pressure in his neck and his skull.

"All he cared about was his precious hybrid spawn." She spat viciously at him.

In front of him this time was his mom crying, his dad against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. It was defensive, the same pose he pulled with difficult kids in the streets, and he had Stiles huddled against his side. And there was a younger version of crazy girl, glaring between them.

"_She looks like the girl out of my dream, daddy." Little Stiles whispered._

"_I know, Gen." Dad whispered back, unfolding one hand to brush it through his sons hair. "Shh, now." His mom and the girl were stood facing each other in the centre of the room. The girl was dirty, streaked with blood and dirt and tears, clothes torn. His mom was wearing a soft, summery dress like he recalls seeing her in all of the time._

"_Gracie.." His mom was pleading, arms outstretched towards the girl. "Gracie please, i'm so sorry. Please-"_

"_You're not sorry!" Gracie screeched at her. "All you care about is keeping your filthy hybrid son safe, but our entire coven and half of the surrounding area is gone! The children, parents, cousins and aunts and uncles. I'm the only one left, because you couldn't take the risk for that... mutt." His mom's mouth opened and closed like she was going to say something, but his father lunged forward, grabbing Gracie by the arm and dragging her towards the door._

"_That is my son." He hissed, passing inches from where Stiles was stuck. "We are Aria's family now. Stay away from us. You are nothing to us." The girl screeched, fighting weakly against him as he pushed her out of the door, slamming it behind her. His mom was pulling Genim into her arms, sobbing into his head as his dad watched with his face unreadable. _

The images of his family faded away and the crazy girl; Gracie, Stiles reminded himself, stalked back into view. Her face was stormy, eyes angry, mouth twisted into a grimace. Thankfully, the cold pressure against his neck faded as she pulled away from him. It wasn't until she came into focus before him that he realised he was crying, hot tears making tracks along his cheeks as the feeling of loss for both his parents returned. It felt like it was crushing him, making it hard to breathe.

"Your mom, she was my aunt. Second strongest of our coven until she met your human father and abandoned us. We were targeted by a new coven that wanted our territory. We begged for help, for her to bring you to us, because you were strong, Genim." She circles around him again, until he can not see her anymore and all he can feel is her hot air brushing against his ear as she spoke. Her voice was cold, and vicious.

"You are the first witch- human hybrid child of our pack, and you would have saved us. But precious _daddy_ talked your mom out of coming to us, and we fought, and they died." Gracie hissed into his ear. Stiles was still crying, and the girl smirked awfully at him as she came back into focus before him.

"I didn't blame your mom, not really, but then she got shot and it was the perfect opening to your dad. I just had to bide my time." Stiles didn't know when to breathe out in relief or sob harder.

"I knew you were smart, so i used those menial items to start a fire knowing you'd see the connection. I trapped your father in _their_ bedroom. I laughed as he burnt, and when you screamed, and when your wolves held you back. I laughed, because you could have saved us, and i could have saved him."

"Why?" Stiles chokes out past the emotions threatening to crush him. Gracie throws her head back, laughing wildly, eventually she stops, her eyes are narrowed, glowing faintly within the pupil.

"Because, you deserve to know what it feels like. How it feels to lose everything, and to watch it all fall apart around you. How it feels to know that there is someone who could stop it, but won't."

"I didn't know, please. Please, Gracie, i didn't know."

"You knew." She hisses at him. "You saw the visions and felt what we felt through the links. You _knew_."

"I was seven, they were bad dreams to me. I swear, if i had the choice now, i'd help. I'd help no matter what."

"It doesn't matter!" Gracie is heading towards hysteric. "There is no do over, and you need to know how this feels." She pauses, head cocked like she's listening to something.

"And now you will, they're all here, outside. It's time, Genim. Say bye, bye to everyone you care about."

* * *

It takes Allison, Scott and Lydia about twenty minutes to grab Deaton and get to the burnt down husk of Stiles' family home. As soon as Lydia and Deaton step out of Allison's car, they stumble backwards, paling significantly.

"Woah." Jackson murmurs, rushing over to help steady Lydia while Scott puts a hand on Deaton's elbow to help him.

"What was that?" Derek calls over, stood at the edge of the barrier around Stiles' house.

"There is a huge amount of magic being worked here, it's overwhelming." Deaton tells them, shaking himself off and moving to stand beside Derek at the edge. Lydia and the others follow them, although Jackson still has a supporting arm around her waist.

"Stiles told us he thought someone caused the fire, but the police found nothing and we could smell nothing. It took us until today to realise that we could literally smell nothing, at all. All scent stops right here, and doesn't pick up until the tree line, we think Stiles is stuck inside of.. whatever this is."

Lydia glances over at Deaton who nods once before turning to Derek.

"A false barrier would explain the excess magic, however i have not come across someone strong enough to do this in a long time." Deaton crouches, fingers hovering over what Derek is imaging as the invisible line. His face is bland, but he turns to Lydia and she kneels beside him, brushing her fingers along the same space.

"An exit space." Lydia murmurs, pressing her palm against the air there like it was an actual physical block against the space. "Can we?" Deaton nods, but before Derek can ask what's going on, there is an expediential increase in pressure surrounding them.

"Imagine it like dough, the more you stretch, the wider it gets. Keep pulling at it until it's wide enough and thin enough to start to tear, and we can see through the barrier." Deaton tells her, dropping down from his crouch onto his knee's, pressing his hand, like Lydia, against some unseen thing in the air before them. The wolves stumble back as the new magic adds to that already existing, making it almost hard to breathe, like it's flowing down their throat and coating the surface of their lungs.

"A little more, Miss Martin." Deaton tells Lydia, who looks like she is becoming tired even though it looks like she is doing nothing.

"It's strong." She gasps out, putting her second hand up and pressing her entire body into pushing against the nothing. Deaton just nods again, following her lead. The pressure is almost unbearable, growing and growing and growing. Derek is sure he's going to crumble under the pressure of it, until it stops, like the feeling of your ears popping in a plane. The pressure is gone, and before him where the barrier was the air is splitting, the facade falling. They all go to rush forward, as Stiles' faint image, and a shaky visage of a girl before him, appear in the cracks of the falling barrier. Lydia and Deaton are breathing heavily, but they look scared. It's only that which stops Derek and the others from rushing forward.

"Run!" It's only faint, echoing through to them, but it sounds like Stiles, and as they watch he turns his head, eyes full of terror.

"Run! Derek, run!" He screams, the sound echoing louder this time, and the pressure builds so quickly again. Lydia and Deaton scramble away as hysterical laughter follows Stiles screams to them. Derek and Jackson rush forward, grabbing Lydia and pulling her backwards whilst the others help Deaton out of the way.

They don't get far until the pressure hits its peak, and everything explodes around them.

* * *

The terror hits him as soon as she says those words, when he remembers her telling him that his wolves had figured it out, that they were there. That he was going to lose everyone he cared about.

"They've done nothing to you, don't hurt them. Don't hurt them!" Stiles begs, struggling against the magical restraints she still has secured around him. She ignores his pleas.

"You see, time passes differently in here. Outside, they've had time to gather your other magic workers, and any second now they're going to find the exit spot, try to exploit it. It will add and add to my own magic, and that will trigger yours. So much repressed power, it's going to explode from you, it will shatter everything and anyone around you, and you'll be left here in the middle. The best part though-" Gracie laughs. "The best part is that when they try to break through the space, they'll start to see you, and hear you, and you'll see them, but just a moment before you kill them. Just a moment, and then they'll be gone." Stiles can feel it around him, building, crashing over him in waves. The tears in whatever is around them are becoming obvious as clean air spills into the space they are filling, and he can hear the gasps of his wolves, can feel the effort of Lydia and Deaton.

"You'll die. This power, it will hit you too." He tries one last time, verging on desperate.

"I don't care." She laughs out, throwing her hands up in the air. "I don't care because you'll still suffer, you'll still know how i've felt all these years." The magic is crashing over him, he can feel it worming it's way inside of him, breaking apart something in his stomach and his chest and his head. A faint, long ago memory of making flower bud with his mother without water or food, of watching his mom put protective wards around the house once Gracie left, of a conversation he wasn't supposed to overhear, where they talk about suppressing him so that no one will be able to use him the way the coven had wanted to. It builds, and he remembers, and the world tears around him until he can see the terrified faces of his wolves, they're staring at him like he isn't really there and he can't even imagine what they're seeing right now.

"Run!" He screams, hoping they can hear him. Faintly, he see's Derek turn, make a run for the two knelt on the floor. He doesn't think they'll move fast enough, and the power inside of him is spilling out, he can feel it hot and dangerous threatening to break the world around him apart just to get free.

"Run! Derek, Run!" Stiles screams, and Gracie is laughing hysterically.

"Say goodbye, Genim." She giggles, and the power spills, breaks, shatters. And everything is hot, white pain.

"Derek!" Stiles thinks he screams one last time, before his world breaks apart, and then there is nothing.


End file.
